Imprint
by bonniebonbon
Summary: Before Hermione could answer, a two-and-a-half feet tall house-elf with big brown eyes squeaked, "Because we want to help out the Wizarding community, Sir! Because we want to help Miss Granger and her friends in making life better for all magical creatures, Sir! Because we want to be like Dobby, a Free elf and proud!" Written for QLFC.


"Sir, I have applied for a job in Magical Law Enforcement, and apparently, I got the job! I start Thursday morning, and I just wanted to let you know that–"

"Ginger, sit."

The man who was the head of the Goblin Liaison Office ran a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair as he sighed. "I'm afraid you can't take the job, Gramger."

"Granger," Hermione murmured. After six months of working here you'd think he'd finally learn her name.

He didn't hear her. "I could tell you that it's because you're one of our best workers, and that we need you, but I could also tell you the truth." He grabbed a tissue and blew his nose. "The truth is," he said as he wiped his nose and threw the snot-filled tissue into the wastebasket beside his desk, "the office ain't doing so well, and we've been losing workers constantly for the last three years. Say, when you first got here, how many people were in this office, roughly?"

Hermione looked up as she thought of her first day working in the Ministry. She had been so excited...but after the first week or so, she found the job repetitive and, well, to be honest, quite dull. "Around a hundred, sir."

"And now?"

Hermione looked through the window of her boss's door and scanned the room outside. She did a quick estimate. "Forty?"

"Thirty-eight, to be exact. See, no one wants to work here anymore. I know, I know, you don't, either, which is, I presume, why you applied for that job. But if people keep leaving, this department will collapse, the magical economy will crash, and most importantly, I'll be left unemployed. Hence, my original statement; I'm afraid you can't take the job."

Life after the war was not as great as it should've been. After the corruption of the Ministry, several people didn't trust them anymore. The economy dropped to its lowest point since the First Wizarding War. Diagon Alley had to be completely restored, which took at least half a year, and the Daily Prophet, though still running, now had a tarnished reputation. After losing Dirk Cresswell, a well-respected man, the Goblin Liaison Office lost its leader and its workers began to seek other jobs. Few stayed behind, and the new ones who came in never stayed for long. They all wanted "important" jobs, such as being an Auror like Harry Potter or a professional Quidditch player like his wife, Ginny. No one considered the Goblin Liaison Office a highly respected field anymore.

"So, I can't leave until the office gains more workers?"

"Right," the man said grimly.

* * *

><p>Hermione paced in circles around her bedroom while she thought about what she should do. She had sent an owl to Ron, Harry, and Ginny, but their responses were not helpful.<p>

Harry had told her that she should just stay there for a little longer and wait. He offered to "pull some strings", but after over nine years of friendship he already knew what she would say. She wanted to get to the top, or at least close to it, on her own, without any help from her fame or worse, her best friend's. 'Til then, stay safe, he'd see on Saturday.

Ginny spent the whole letter ranting about how thick Hermione's dim-witted American boss was and that it was foolish that Hermione Granger, the brightest witch of her age, had to respond to a brainless old geezer. Also, she'd see her on Saturday, too.

Ron simply replied with a sentence: Well, that's stupid.

She sat down on the edge of her bed and threw off her socks. She flopped down onto her bed and stared at the ceiling.

Then, a thought: _Socks. _

How could she be so stupid?

* * *

><p>"What the hell is this?"<p>

Hermione beamed. "House-elves, sir."

"House-elves?!"

"Yes, Nick, house-elves."

That was the first time Hermione had ever called her boss by his first name. She felt both terrified and content with herself.

"And why, exactly, is there an army of house-elves in my office?"

"Well, you said you needed workers, didn't you?"

Nick looked baffled. He opened and closed his mouth. "I meant _human _workers, Granger!"

That was the first time Nick had ever called Hermione by her last name.

But then again, today was the start of a lot of firsts. Of that, Hermione was certain.

"House-elves are just as capable as us witches and wizards. In fact, they're even more advanced at magic than us!"

Nick looked at the house-elves in front of him with compassion, something Hermione had never seen in the man's eyes. He continued softly. "In America, almost all house-elves are free nowadays…you British lot still keep them, don't you?"

Hermione grimaced. "Yes, sir, but I strongly disagree with it and I try my absolute best to–"

"Yeah, yeah," the man interrupted. He rubbed his eyes. "No house-elves have ever worked in an office, never mind the Ministry of Magic. Why are you so sure they can now?"

Before Hermione could answer, a two-and-a-half feet tall house-elf with big brown eyes squeaked, "Because we want to help out the Wizarding community, Sir! Because we want to help Miss Granger and her friends in making life better for all magical creatures, Sir! Because we want to be like Dobby, a Free elf and proud!" A high-pitched cheer came from the crowd of thirty or so house-elves.

They chanted in unison: For Dobby! For Dobby!

Nick raised his eyebrows. He looked at Hermione, who was grinning ear-to-ear.

"Oh, why not, I'm already on the verge of losing my job, anyways."

* * *

><p>"And that, children, was how your mother changed the world for house-elves and wizards alike," said Ron dramatically.<p>

Rose giggled. "Uncle Nick was insane to listen to Mum!"

"You mean, insanely _right_!" Hermione chipped in. Everyone laughed. "Okay, time for sleep!"

Rose and Hugo groaned. "Please, one more story!" Hugo begged. The two children looked at their parents with puppy-dog eyes. Soon, Ron started giving puppy-dog eyes to his wife, too.

"Oh fine," Hermione sighed. She always caved in. "Which one do you want to hear?"

"We want to hear the one about Dobby!"

Hermione and Ron looked at each other. If only that little elf could see how important he was, if only he could see the imprint he had made on their hearts.


End file.
